


The Art of Falling in Love

by Orange_Coyote



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Art Student Steve, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Swearing, ballet student tony, but just a tiny bit toward the end, inspired by a tumblr text post, it was originally just going to be steve and tony but pepper insisted, my first stony drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 17:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3578238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orange_Coyote/pseuds/Orange_Coyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve observes a ballet class as part of an art assignment. Simple: find a muse, and draw them in motion.<br/>When he sees Tony walk into the dance studio for the first time, his life becomes anything but simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Falling in Love

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I know absolutely nothing about ballet lingo and have tried my best to avoid using it in order to not make a mockery of such a hardcore art form. If you have any words you’d like me to add or know of some phrases that will make this story less awkward, please let me know.  
> Majority of the fic is in Steve's POV until the last segment.  
> There's a video I reference toward the end of the fic which can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3DSJhbU4chw

Steve shuffled into the studio, holding the door open for the line of girls entering the building behind him before stepping fully inside himself. He felt oddly anxious to be doing this study, equally excited and nervous at the prospect of sketching women (and men) he knew nothing about.  
  
The dance instructor noticed him skulking by the doorway and pointed to a stool placed off to the side. Every wall was covered in mirrors and Steve felt a bit self-conscious sitting in such a prominent position toward the front of the room, but he didn’t want to be rude by complaining about something so trivial.  
  
Sliding onto the seat, Steve let his knapsack fall clumsily to the ground before pulling out a charcoal pencil and a blank sketchbook he had bought specifically for this exercise in his craft.  
  
A few moments later the ballet students began emerging from their respective changing rooms and taking up their starting positions along the barre. Steve ran his gaze down the line of people standing before him, trying to find that one person who would capture his attention and become his muse for this project. His first scan brought nothing special and he internally sighed. Seemed like there’d be no inspiration today.  
  
He settled his back gently against the mirror behind him, resigning himself to observing various positions to use later on. Just as the instructor was about to give the first command, the doors to the studio slammed open theatrically. Steve grimaced along with most of the class, turning his gaze toward the doors to take in the last minute entry.  
  
This boy was already dressed in his workout clothes, leotard and thin leather shoes a matching black with a red stripe down the right side while a yellow stripe adorned the opposite side of the fabric. It would have been a weird combination on anyone, but somehow it seemed to suit him.  
  
“Sorry I’m late,” the boy announced as he took a spot at the end of the line.  
  
“No, you’re not,” a redhead piped up from further down the barre, glaring over at the boy now smirking in her direction.

The boy chuckled. “You’re absolutely right, Pepper. I’m not sorry at all.”  
  
“Mr. Stark,” the instructor interjected tersely, “if you’re ready to begin?”  
  
“Of course, sorry to keep you waiting.”  
  
The instructor rolled her eyes before beginning to recite a list of poses in quick succession. The students here were in the advanced class, Steve knew, and it seemed like they really knew their stuff.  
  
His eyes kept getting drawn to the latecomer: his dark, messy hair, the tinkling brown eyes, and a hint of five o’clock shadow. He didn’t look like a dancer in any sense of the word, but his moves were fluid and graceful in a way none of the other students could manage. One thought flooded Steve’s mind as he began to draw the basic lines of a human outline: inspiration recovered, muse found.  


* * *

  
By the end of the class, Steve had already filled three pages with general facial features, long, toned legs clad in black tights, and molten brown eyes with a twinkle of mischief in them. He had just stuffed his sketchpad and pencils back into his bag when the dark haired boy approached him.  
  
He couldn’t resist noticing the drying sweat dotting the dancer’s brow, the lean muscles showing taut across his arms as he stretched.  
  
“Haven’t seen you around here before,” the boy commented, one brow raised and one side of his mouth quirked up in a half smile.  
  
“Probably because I haven’t been around here before,” Steve replied smoothly.  
  
“Ha, I bet. I’m pretty sure I’d remember a face like yours.”  
  
“Tony! Stop harassing the art student!”  
  
“One sec,” _Tony_ murmured before turning around to address the voice accosting him from across the room. “Mind ya business, Potts!”  
  
Steve quieted the chuckle attempting to leave his lips and sent the redhead a sympathetic look. He appreciated her assistance, but he could handle himself just fine. He tried to tell her that with his eyes.  
  
“Fine,” the girl huffed. “Don’t be late for dinner.” With that, she turned and left.  
  
“ _Girls_ ,” Tony groaned, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling and throwing his arms out melodramatically. “Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.”  
  
Steve fondly thought of his own friends, Peggy ranking highest among them. “Yeah.”  
  
“How long you here for?”  
  
“A few weeks. Until I get what I need for this assignment, at least.”  
  
“Hmm. Guess I’ll be seeing you around.”  
  
“Guess so.”  
  
Tony nodded definitively, reaching out a hand and patting Steve’s shoulder. “See you, artist boy.” Tony turned away, walking toward the door with a swing in his step.  
  
“My name’s Steve,” he said half-heartedly, his mind processing just how tightly Tony’s leotard clung to his hips.  
  
Tony peaked over his shoulder and shrugged. “Whatever you say, artist boy.”  


* * *

  
A week passed in a similar manner. Steve would arrive a few minutes early to set up his supplies for the day, the ballet students would file into the studio and take their spot at the warm-up barre, Tony would arrive just as the lesson would actually begin, and Steve would observe the arrogant dancer in between turning random lines into actual shapes. It became a routine that Steve looked forward to.  
  
On the first day of the second week of his observations, the instructor informed her students they’d be tackling some actual choreography. Most of them groaned, but Tony stood straighter at the pronouncement, a different type of light entering his eyes. Steve immediately bent down to attempt to translate that look from practice to paper.  
  
“Trying our for the male lead, we have: Rhodey, Phil, and Tony.“  
  
Steve sort of tuned out after that, his senses dedicated fully to his muse.  
  
That day Tony’s poise was tighter, his arms and legs elongated further, his jumps were always perfect. Steve, for lack of a better word, was mesmerized. If he had believed in hypnosis, this is probably what it would feel like.  
  
His pencil scratched and slid across the formerly blank page of his sketchpad like a cat chasing the light of a laser pointer. He nearly ripped one page in his haste to turn it before the exact shape of Tony’s eyes left his mind.  
  
After the frenzy of ideas finally found their way from his mind through his fingers to the page, Steve flipped through the drawings he had done so far. The first few pages were simple, general outlines. Further in, specific body parts took shape: glinting brown eyes, strong dark eyebrows, toned legs clad in red tights. A few pages later, an entire person took form. That person, Steve knew without even peering too closely at the details, portrayed every last inch of Tony.  
  
At the end of practice, as Steve carefully stored his pad and other materials, Tony approached him.  
  
“See that, art boy? I’m up for lead.”  
  
“I did see that, considering I’ve been sitting here all session long.”  
  
Tony let loose a loud laugh. “I like you, Rogers. You’ve got spunk.”  
  
“Where I live, you either get spunk or get beat.”  
  
Tony’s amused smile quickly crumpled, replaced by a concerned visage. “That doesn’t sound fun.”  
  
Steve shrugged. “You live and you learn.”  
  
“Mm. Do me a favor and walk me to my car?”  
  
Steve glanced at him suspiciously. Just this past week had taught him Tony had a penchant for pranks. “Why?”  
  
“Can’t a man ask another man for his company without it being fueled by some ulterior motive?”  
  
“Why are you answering my question with another question?”  
  
“I could ask you the same thing.”  
  
Steve sighed. “Fine, Tony.” He bent down and retrieved his knapsack, slinging it comfortably over one shoulder. He waved his hand toward the door. “Lead the way.”  


* * *

  
The next day Steve arrived at his usual time, but now he had Tony in tow. After the other boy found out the circumstances of Steve’s living situation, he refused to let Steve walk to the studio unaccompanied. Seeing as Tony drove, and didn’t know how to take no for an answer, they had begun carpooling after their classes ended. It felt surreal, seeing Tony twice as often for twice as long, but Steve enjoyed the guy’s twisted sense of humor, his admiration of anything science related, and their common love of classic rock music.  
  
Today he’d start coloring in the finished drawings he planned on actually submitting for his assignment. The others would find a permanent home in his bedroom on his desk. They felt too personal to just throw away.  
  
Tony chose that moment to saunter over, his hair still a little damp from the last minute shower he’d taken before picking Steve up. “Almost done, aren’t you?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“What did you draw, anyway?”  
  
Steve shut the book before Tony could get a peek inside. “We’ve been over this, Tony. I’m not telling you.”  
  
“Why?” Tony paused, then grinned lewdly. Never a good thing. “I know what it is.”‘  
  
“No, you don’t.”  
  
“I do, actually.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“You’re drawing Pepper! You’ve got a crush on Potts!”  
  
Steve felt his face flush. “No. Oh God, _no_.”  
  
“Nothing to be ashamed of,” Tony consoled. “You wouldn’t be the first. Probably not the last either. But I should warn you: she’s a feisty one.”  
  
“Tony. _Shut_. _Up_.”  
  
Fortunately, the other students filed into the room just as Tony opened his mouth for another retort. Steve mentally sighed in relief.  
  
“I’ll leave you to your filthy thoughts, Rogers. Time for me to shine.” He strode over to join Pepper, his long-time dance partner and long-time best friend.  
  
Steve shook his head at the other man’s retreating figure. That was a close call. Too close for Steve’s comfort.  


* * *

  
By the time Friday rolled around, Steve felt confident that his work here was done. He’d miss the familiarity of the studio, his growing acquaintanceship with Pepper and Rhodey, seeing Tony on a daily basis. But all good things came to an end at some point. That was something he knew from personal experience.  
  
Today he would really only be observing as a formality, seeing as his activity time sheet had to have a full forty hours logged for him to get any credit on the assignment. It’d be nice to just watch without having to worry about how to translate the slant of light from the upper windows or the exact placement of Tony’s feet.  
  
He kept his sketchbook and a pencil on his lap anyway, just in case some last second detail reached his mind that had previously escaped his notice.  
  
“Today will be a full rehearsal,” Madame Lee announced. She glanced over at Steve and added for his benefit, “Meaning we will go over the ballet in its entirety, with the music playing.”  
  
Steve nodded, glad he could give his full attention to the unofficial production about to take place. He caught Tony’s eyes, who winked at him. Steve rolled his eyes but smiled in return.  
  
The dancers participating in the show took their places, Rhodey and Phil moving to sit beside Steve in order to better enjoy the show.

[( _this is basically what I envisioned, so just imagine Tony and Pepper as the leads surrounded by random pros or something.)_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=3DSJhbU4chw)  
  
By the time the last note filled the air, Steve could feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He dropped his sketching equipment down onto the stool and fled the room, heading toward the bathroom so he could compose himself before his inevitable confrontation with Tony.  
  
_I love him_ , Steve thought helplessly as he ran. _Shit_.  


* * *

  
Tony grinned, lifting Pepper into the air in a quick celebratory spin. Their performance had been flawless, not that Madame Lee wouldn’t find a few things to nitpick at, and he couldn’t wait to see Steve’s reaction.  
  
He placed a scowling Pepper lightly on her feet, turning toward the corner of the room Steve always occupied during his time at the studio. He was met by an empty stool, Steve’s belongings strewn across it haphazardly. The artist himself was nowhere to be seen.  
  
Tony ignored Pepper grasping at his hand and calling his name. He ignored the worried looks from Rhodey and Phil as he walked past them. He ignored the other girls asking if he would be joining them at the diner for a celebratory slice of pie. He strode straight to the stool, worry fueling his thoughts as he wondered where Steve could have disappeared to.  
  
Despite his better judgment, Tony could feel the urge to look at Steve’s drawings grow with every passing second. For the last two weeks Steve had refused to even give Tony a hint as to what that sketchbook contained. Tony Stark could be described with many words, and ‘unnaturally curious’ happened to be two of them. Pepper called him ‘nosy,’ but that was only because she couldn’t appreciate his unquenchable thirst for knowledge of all kinds.  
  
Glancing around, Tony realized that he was now alone in the dance studio. No one would know if he took a quick peek.  
  
Sliding out his hand and snatching up the book before he could have a change of heart, Tony cracked the book open at its exact middle. A flurry of dark overlapping lines met his eyes. He couldn’t make sense of anything, not really, so he flipped forward a few pages. His eyes grew wide as he took in what he realized was his own frame. The same dark brown eyes, messy black bedhead, his trademark red, black, and yellow shoes.  
  
Somehow Steve made him look graceful, glamorous even.  
  
The next ten pages comprised an entire tableau dedicated to Tony’s body. His eyes, his legs, his arms. The way his brow furrowed on each lift, the exact amount of space between his feet while he walked from point to point. Should he be creeped out? Flattered? Embarrassed?  
  
Tony shut the book. He’d return it to Steve before he jumped to any conclusions. The guy was just doing his work, after all. He should be honored that Steve had chosen to draw him out of everyone.  
  
He tucked the pad and pencil into Steve’s bag, making sure not to jostle any of the more fragile instruments within. Tossing the bag over his shoulder, Tony left the room and pondered where to search first. Bathroom?  
  
Striding down the hall, Tony took a turn that lead to the boy’s locker room. Technically only dancers were allowed inside, since their personal belongings and lockers were left there, but Madame Lee had taken a liking to Steve on his second day of observation and had given him permission to use the room as he needed.  
  
“Steve? You in here, buddy?”  
  
Tony heard a muffled cough and followed the sound. He found Steve huddled on a bench at the farthest corner of the room, his head in his hands.  
  
Tony approached cautiously.  
  
“You alright there?”  
  
Steve took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Tony felt a jolt of worry in his chest.  
  
Then the other boy looked up, his eyes red rimmed, and shakily replied, “Yeah. I’m fine.”  
  
“You had me worried,” Tony responded casually. “Left your stuff there. For a minute I thought you’d been kidnapped. It’s not like you to leave your art stuff around unattended.”  
  
Steve let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah. Not like me.”  
  
“You sure you’re okay, champ?”  
  
Steve shook his head, more to clear his mind than to rescind his earlier statement. “I’m okay, Tony. Thanks though.”  
  
“Riiiiight,“ Tony uttered quietly. “Speaking of, here’s your stuff.” He held the bag out to Steve until the other boy eventually reached out to grab it. Their fingers brushed and Steve quickly pulled his hand away. Tony would swear he felt a static shock where their skin touched.  
  
“Thanks,” Steve muttered, his head lowered and his fingers gripping the strap so tightly his knuckles showed white.  
  
“Steve, can I ask you something?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“Why’d you pick me?”  
  
Steve head shot up so fast Tony was surprised it didn’t crack off his neck then and there. “What?”  
  
“For your assignment," he clarified. "Why’d you pick me, out of everyone in the class?”  
  
“Who told you?”  
  
“No one. I figured it out on my own.”  
  
“ _Bullshit_. You looked.”  
  
Tony shrugged, one shoulder lifting almost apologetically. “I couldn’t help it.”  
  
Steve stood, his frame towering over Tony. Tony nearly pissed himself. “ _Fuck_. _You_. _Stark_.” And with those three words spat from his lips, Steve stormed out of the room before Tony could stop him.  
  
“Wait! Rogers, come on!” Tony stumbled as he chased after him into the deserted corridor. “I’m not offended or anything. I’m honored! Seriously!”  
  
Steve stopped short and turned on his heel. Tony had never seen him like this: face angry, chest heaving, arms strained. It was actually kind of hot.  
  
“I can’t _believe_ you, you… _you asshole_! How dare you invade my privacy? After I explicitly told you I didn’t want you to see my work!”  
  
“Steve, relax. Come on. Just let me explain.”  
  
“No. You don’t get to explain. I’m leaving.”  
  
Tony rushed forward, gripping Steve’s wrist tightly enough to prevent him from moving away. “Look, I fuck things up. It’s what I do. I’m sorry. Please don’t let me fuck this up too.“  
  
Steve’s posture slightly relaxed and Tony mentally counted it as a win despite the fact Steve wouldn’t turn to look at him. “Tony, don’t say that about yourself. You’re not a fuck up.”  
  
“I am,” Tony countered. “I know it. Pepper knows it You know it. _Madam_ _Lee_ knows it. That’s not up for debate here.” Steve made to retort, but Tony spoke over him. “The point here, is that I don’t want to lose you over something like this. Over anything ever.”  
  
Steve chortled. “You couldn’t lose me if you tried.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Steve turned around, finally, and met Tony’s gaze straight on. “Yeah.”  
  
“Good.” Tony released his grip, moving to stand chest to chest with Steve. This guy who had just randomly popped up in the studio one day and burrowed his way into Tony’s armored heart. “You gonna answer my question now?”  
  
“It was you.”  
  
“Care to elaborate?”  
  
“I chose you, because of _you_. The way your presence commandeered the room the instant you stepped inside, your stupid smirk, your unexpected grace. All of it. All of you.”  
  
Tony leaned closer, Steve’s breath fanning sweetly against his own mouth. “Tell me more.”  
  
Steve gave a breathless laugh. “You’re horrible.”  
  
“Shut up, Rogers.” Tony closed the last inch of distance between them, tilting his head just slightly to the left to allow a perfect slotting of his lips with Steve’s.  
  
If their fingers brushing had been a static shock, this kiss was falling off a cliff.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully that wasn't too awkward, considering it is the first time I have ever written superhusbands fic (and also the first fic I've posted on this account so I'm still getting used to the site's formatting). Alternate title: Danced Straight Into My Heart  
> If you'd take a second to leave some feedback of any kind, I'd greatly appreciate it!


End file.
